


Nothing Like

by sternflammenden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-03
Updated: 2012-04-03
Packaged: 2017-11-02 23:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternflammenden/pseuds/sternflammenden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Domeric Bolton, against his father's wishes, seeks out his brother Ramsay.  I eventually plan to expand this. </p><p>Written for a throneland prompt on LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Like

They have the same eyes, and the same father, but beyond that, there’s nothing like. 

Domeric tries though, to find something in his half-brother to appreciate, for love is even beyond his forgiving nature. As he rides with him, as he watches the easy way in which Ramsay comports himself, gutting a deer and leaving it to rot, taking hold of a tavern wench and turning her over a table, one hand stifling her protests, the other shoving apart her thighs, and later, through the thin walls of the cheap inn, her quiet protests, her eventual screams, then a dull thud, and finally a silent sobbing. He does not sleep that night, loathing himself, his cowardice, but he realizes that he’s no physical match for the other man, with his burly frame and low cunning. 

So he presses the pillow over his head and waits for first light. 

But before he rides, he shares a drink, mulled wine, with the man who could have been his brother, and as they drink, he sees a glimpse of a gentle smile on Ramsay’s face. It is the only redeeming element that he’s seen, and he wonders how someone so cruel and so brutal, could be capable of such sweetness, no matter how fleeting. 

But he’s seen stranger things at home, so he rides north, toward the Dreadfort, toward his disapproving father and anxious mother. 

On the way, he thinks on it, and realizes that he’ll never be the knight of his boyhood stories. And he is glad of it. He hasn’t the stomach for such things.

 _You had the right of it, Father_ , he says when they meet again, clasping Roose’s hand in his, seeking out traces of the other boy in his face. There is nothing to be found. And when later that night, when he vomits blood, again and again, and he feels his mother’s cool hands on his fevered brow, he repeats the thought. _You had the right of it, Mother. I never should have gone._ But she says nothing in response, soothing him wordlessly, humming a half-remembered tune that she’d sung when he’d been nothing more than a babe in a cradle. 

And before he drifts off to a heavy sleep, Domeric thinks, _They are enough. We are enough, after all._ For despite their brutal ways, their bloody business, they are his parents, and he does love them, after a fashion. 

And they bury him a week later.


End file.
